


Fire and Hemlock

by anno_Hreog



Series: Children of Men [2]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Post-Avengers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anno_Hreog/pseuds/anno_Hreog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Balder falls into Asgard, Loki is cursed, and Thor is just looking for his brother.</p><p>Or, how to break a spell with dragons in it. Post-Avengers.</p><p>For norsekink: Balder+Loki Spirited Away AU. Ended up being Loki/Thor <i>because</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/9985.html?thread=21657345) at norsekink. Title is filched from the Diana Wynne Jones novel of the same.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balder calls Loki into being because he needs him. Or, the other way around.

Once he was an ordinary boy who went to school and played games on his phone, a boy whose mother still kissed him on the cheek and called him ‘honey’ and yelled at him when she found moldy plates under his bed. But it was harder to think of that time as real or to remember who he had once been, as if it had been months or years ago, or only this afternoon.

Once he walked through a door and fell.

Whether the fall lasted an infinity or a blink of an eye, none of that mattered right now, because the darkness was not empty at all. It was full of eyes and teeth. 

Others were running too, as were things that hunted them, great deadly slavering things, monstrous shapes that swept in and bounded away with broken screaming things in their jaws.

He found shelter in the hollow of a giant tree. He wasn’t alone. A woman lay curled up around a broken leg that had been left to fester, and the putrid smell of it made him retch. When he tried helplessly to help, she hissed at him like a wild cat. All night, he sat listening to her pained, shallow breathing. In the morning she was dead. 

He left the tree and walked without a destination, scooped water that had collected on leaves, chewed at the tender roots of plants, and risked getting sick each time he plucked a berry. He almost forgot what real food tasted like, but in his dreams he gorged himself sick. 

Where this was, why this was happening, why this had happened to him, none of that mattered, details, facts, lies, falling away like dead scales from an old skin that no longer fit. Names and places lost their meanings and became empty sounds. The days felt longer here and the nights were spiked with terror, but he held onto them. 

Then his luck ran out. 

The things screamed before they attacked. It was less of a warning, more of a surefire way to paralyze him with fear, and he was mindless with white fear, a pit of nothing dropping where his guts used to be, when he sent out a blind prayer to whoever was out there. 

He was nobody. He was nothing. Don’t let them see me, don’t let them hurt me. Help me. It’s not too much, I’m nobody, practically nothing, _please please please please please_.

The creatures were soon upon him. With what felt like a swing from a baseball bat wrapped in a mattress, he was knocked down and hit the dirt rolling. The growl that hung over him stank foul and rancid, turning the night sky into an abattoir, and as the hideous mouth descended, he threw his arm over his eyes and screamed –

\-- he was still screaming when, in rush of smoke and the sharp sting of sulfur, he was swept up, by what could only be a shadow. The shadow that enveloped him was swift and solid, one arm around to shield him, the other fighting off the brunt of the attack. 

Faintly, he registered a clash of knives and claws, the sickening squelch of torn flesh, and some furiously annoyed stabbing. Blood sprayed across his cheek before, suddenly, he was lifted above the fray and enveloped in a heavy cloak that smelled of warm fur and ashes. And with a quick leap, the shadow caught the tail end of the wind, and they were flung up even higher.

The beasts lept after them, but their jaws snapped at empty air, and they clambered over each other to get at him, whining as they tumbled to the ground. Soon the creatures were left behind, their frustrated howls fading beneath them like a banner that had unloosed and fallen fluttering beneath their feet. 

The rush of shock and tears blinded him. If this was a monster snatching him from other monsters, so be it. He couldn’t run anymore, couldn’t struggle. He let go of that tight small fist inside, and he burst out crying. Relief washed over him like a wave. 

He felt as if he was a hundred years old, as if he was only a baby, a nameless, gutless, skinless worm, stripped down to nothing but the deep racking sobs that shook him to the core. 

Tears soaked into the too solid leather mail, and he thought he could hear the furious beating of his own heart underneath. The shadow held him close, fingers curled behind his neck like a strangling ivy. Its breath was ice, its grip firm and ungentle.

“Hush now, kitten, I have you. What have you left to fear?” 

The wind combed through his hair as they flew, and his breath stuttered to a hitch as he curled up in the warmth of the heavy cloak. It was dark and motley instead of pure black, sewn all over with feathers that gleamed iridescent under a sky that had lost all its stars. With an eerie tired-out calm, he gazed down as they swept past a landscape turned miniature, at the pointed tops of purple firs and the river that wound through it like a thin grey snake, and dozed off. 

He felt rather than heard the soft laugh and the brush of a thumb that wiped away the flecks of blood on his cheek. But maybe he was dreaming.

\-------

Inside the stone walls, the ancient pipes were clanging and groaning in protest at having to draw water at this hour, loud enough to wake a castle that seemed sunk in enchanted slumber.

But the shadow didn’t seem to care about how much noise it was making or how late it was, as long as there was hot water for a bath. He’d hauled a dented brass tub from the corner, and dragged it around in circles across the stone floor until he’d found a perfect spot before the fire. He held out the hose head at the boy with an impatient gesture.

“Here, come and make yourself useful,” said the shadow who was also called Loki. “Hold this in the tub until it fills up. Be careful, don’t let it slip out -- ” warned Loki, just as water gushed through the length of the hose with a powerful spurt, making it writhe like an angry serpent.

In seconds they were both drenched, clothes and hair all splattered wet before he managed to grab hold of it again. Cringing, he kept his head down and held tight with both hands, staring at the bubbles.

“You’re pathetic,” crowed Loki, and left him to start rifling through the cupboards. “And you look like a wet _dog_. I had a dog once. Oh, you’re nothing like her. She was magnificent, my clever Ditha. You, you’re useless. As useless as that stupid puppy, not worth even the sack to drown it in.” Loki’s face twisted for a moment before he became cheerful again. “You remind me of that thing, all wet and pathetic and whinging, what was it called? Oh, yes. I shall call you Balder.”

The name drifted over and fell on the boy, dappling gently over his skin like gold dust, and like that he was Balder, always had been. He could never have been anyone else.

\-------

Balder thought he should have been more surprised, more shocked and disbelieving at where he found himself and what he stumbled into next. But what other life he once had was far away and fading fast. Here, wherever here was, felt like the only real place in the world, as if he had finally come home.

As the flight swooped down to an end, he peered over the trim of the cape. A castle sprawled over the knoll like a small city, buttressed by its many towers. A few in the back were crumbling, as if they, having shaken their angry fist at the sky, had been broken in their insolence. Others were impossibly high, higher than they were currently flying, and garlanded in clouds. 

The warlord Tyr’s great hall, Loki told him. Walls as high and imposing as granite cliffs, sternly rebuffing approach from mere stragglers. So, Loki snuck them in through the back. 

Smoke and shadow unraveled from Balder like a diaphanous black snake, but the hand that led him through the humble grounds was solid and very real. 

A few torches burned low, and if there were sentries or armed men, they were elsewhere, probably standing guard over the hall’s more important denizens. As they crossed a small courtyard, a lone goat lifted her head half-asleep and bleated at them, and Loki made a rude gesture at the animal, before they slipped into the servants’ quarters.

What seemed like a dozen or so kitchens led into one another, from larger ones had spits wide enough to roast three elephants, to the rows of earthen ovens with simmering iron pots, past the aisles of unadorned tables and benches where the servants took their meals. 

They arrived at an out-of-the way kitchen, little more than a half-empty larder in this lofty castle. The fire in the grate was almost dead. Loki poked at it with his bare hands until it flared up with sudden gusto. He fed it a few more logs and beckoned to Balder to come warm himself. The flames lept and flared, throwing shadows on Loki’s bleak face. 

Even in this rude little room, with its roughly-hewn stone floor and modest furnishings, he stood tall and sad, his shoulders rigid from fending off invisible foes that seemed always to cling to him, and the smoke and shadows rolled off his armor like waves of magic. Under his haunted gaze, Balder knew he was in the presence of a great lord, albeit a damaged one.

Balder should thank him for saving his life, but he didn’t know how or what to say, and he felt faint and grubby. Perhaps he should fall on his knees. But when he made a cautious step close, Loki whirled on him and wrinkled his nose in disgust, and the spell was broken.

“You’re… filthy and you smell … ugh… you’re absolutely _disgusting_. What was I thinking, picking up such a little gutter rat?” He spun around and examined at his own hands and the inside of his arms. “And now _I’m_ disgusting. And you’re likely stewing in filthy mortal diseases, too. If you’ve given me head lice, you mangy cur, I’ll pick out each one and make you eat them. Bath!”

\-------

Which was how Balder ended up holding a hose to a quickly filling tub and frantically looking around for the taps to turn off the water. The pipes groaned even louder. Any moment now, those the guards in the walls would come marching in to throw him out into the howling wilderness again. Loki wasn’t worried.

He was busy stealing food from the larder, and making a racket.

“Do you like cheese? Eugh, it’s as ripe as Odin’s hallowed scrotum.” Loki gave it a sniff before tossing it to Balder, who almost tripped over the hose to catch it. “Grapes, dried figs, salt cake, cold chicken. Oh good, blackberry pie. Balder!” 

Hurriedly closing the taps, Balder ran after him as Loki grabbed things out of the cupboards and threw them at Balder, all the while casually discarding his begrimed clothing in his wake. 

It would have been a bizarre striptease for some gluttonous imaginary lover, the way he peeled off layers of leather and linen and plucked fruit and meat off the shelves, if only he looked like he cared. 

Soon there was a trail of boots and socks, vambraces, a tunic, trousers where Loki stepped out of them on the floor, unconcerned with such trivial things such as housekeeping or nudity.

It must have been the heavenly smell of the peaches and grapes he cradled in the crook of his arms. He was dizzy with hunger, stupid with embarrassment, and he stared intently up at the rafters, rocking on his heels. His head was a puddle, and his tongue a lump of coal that he tried in vain to swallow. 

Before he knew it, he vision came and went. When he came to, he’d fallen on his rump. Hands braced on his knees, Loki was peering down at him curiously, more pale exposed skin than Balder knew how to deal with. 

“You’re hungry,” said Loki. “You must be famished.”  
Balder nodded. 

“Then why didn’t you eat? I gave you food.” 

Balder looked down. The grapes were spilling from the crook of his arm. The lump in his throat was burning. He must have gone mute. He shook his head and looked up at Loki.

“You didn’t eat because,” said Loki slowly, “because I didn’t tell you to?”

Balder swallowed hard and nodded again. 

Loki scowled at him. “Are you as great a fool as Thor?” he spat. “Do I have to tell you to do every little thing? No, no, that’s not right,” Loki shook his head. “Because he wouldn’t, he doesn’t. But you would? Do as I say?”

“Yes…” His throat was dry. 

“Why?” 

“I… I don’t know … my lord?” So he wasn’t mute after all. There was a flicker of a smile at the _my lord_ ; he had judged correctly. The look in Loki’s eyes, however, were unfathomable. 

Without another word, Loki took the fruit from him, and rolled a single grape between his fingers for many interminable moments. Finally, he pressed it between Balder’s lips. 

Sweetness burst upon his tongue with a thousand flavors, and exploded like tears. Oh, he was crying again. Loki fed him another grape, and straightened. The smile was back, but it was sharper.

“Balder, sit.”

Balder scrambled on his haunches, and gazed plaintively up at Loki. He was fed a grape.

“Balder, come here.” He scurried after him, and was rewarded another. 

Loki had him collect the scattered food, fill the goblets with ale, and pick up his clothes and fold them. When Balder tried to lick the juices from his fingers, he got a swat on the head. 

“Dirty thing. That’s bad manners.” But the hand lingered in his hair and caressed. The lump in his throat had settled in the pit of his stomach and burned with an unexpected glow. 

Then, abruptly, Loki tired of the game. 

“I have no need of a dog,” he said, and not waiting for a response, he walked off and stepped gingerly into the tub, letting out a long, pleased hiss. “Ahhh, hot enough to boil a lobster, that’s good.”

“Don’t send me away, my lord, I have nowhere else to go.” Balder crawled to crouch beside the brass tub. His face was ugly in the dented reflection. 

“Hmm?” Loki looked sideways at him. “Whatever gave you that idea?” He drummed his fingers on outside of the tub and hummed tunelessly up at the rafters. Balder felt himself go cross-eyed as he stared at the drops of condensation forming on the brass. 

"Oh, are you still here?" Loki snapped his fingers. “Undress.”

“ _What?_ I… I don’t….” 

“Perhaps you have somewhere else to be,” said Loki idly examining his fingernails.

“No, I…”

Balder stopped, and choking down on a sob, he slowly tugged off his shirt, and almost tripped shaking off his pants. The warmth in his stomach crept lower.

“Throw them in the fire,” ordered Loki, “They’re ruined anyway.” The flames lept up and devoured his clothes like a live wild thing. He was horrified, and strangely light-headed. This was really happening.

When he finally raised his shame-crushed eyes, Loki’s were wide with amusement.

“I see the price of virtue is sold cheap, and the spirit of true modesty is beyond the hearts of man." Then he pointed and laughed. "I didn’t even have to haggle, much. Your face! The look on your face! Oh, don’t be boring, child. No one’s interested. But climb in and scrub my back, do. The water won’t stay hot forever.” 

Through the vapors, he already looked limp and his voice was drunk with fondness. “And be a good boy, worthless dim-witted Balder, and fetch us the ale along with you.”

Now, he was warm and full and getting drowsy from the ale, which was unexpectedly strong and seemed to bubble up unbidden from the goblets. 

He’d worked up a lather, and they took turns scrubbing each others backs, lingering to snatch bites to eat, savory, sweet, sweet, savory, alternating on the tongue. From the grate, the fire painted a golden glow on Loki’s brow and softened his face, made it young. But his sigh was a thousand years old.

His head lolled back over the brim as he stretched languidly. In the lull, Balder watched drops of water making their way down wet tendrils inky black hair that curled around his throat and made Balder think of snakes. When at last Loki spoke, Balder almost didn’t hear him over the crackling of the fire. 

“When I was a child, I used to bathe like this with my brother.” He sounded wistful and sad again. “We were always together, always close. I never thought I would be parted from him, no more than a child could pare away his own shadow.”

As if to wipe away suds, Balder traced the pale hints of scars up his arms. “Where is he now, my… my lord? Where is your brother?”

Loki waved away the answer carelessly. “Oh, somewhere, nowhere, not here, so it matters not. I have you now.”

“And I?” He swallowed heavily. “And what am I, my lord?”

“Enough of this my lord, nonsense,” said Loki, impatiently, changing his mind again. “I am not your lord. I am Loki.”

“And who am I, then… Loki?”

The smile that cut upwards that narrow face was sharp as a blade, but Loki’s eyes glittered happily. “Whoever I want, whatever I need. You are Balder.” 

Slippery arms pulled him close and he sighed and finally allowed himself to lean back into the embrace. His eyes were getting heavy, and he really shouldn’t fall asleep in the bath, but he didn’t want to get up, not just yet. 

“Tomorrow, when the household wakes, set about to work and show that you’re useful. Don’t be discouraged, be persistent. But make sure you have a place.” The words caressed the whorls of his ears, but the lips were always out of reach. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find Sigyn. If you show yourself resourceful and obedient, she will give you work, and you will be allowed to stay. Show that you have worth.”

He was half-asleep when Loki helped him out of the bath and patted him dry, pulled a clean tunic over his head as if he were a child. He was half-dreaming when he curled up before the fire, smiling at the soft words and sweeter promises that lulled him to sleep. 

But before dawn, when he was startled awake by the commotion of footsteps and hurried shouting of a large household preparing for the day ahead, he couldn’t remember any of them. What remained was only a black cloak thrown over his shoulders, the last wisps of smoke clinging to it like desperate ghosts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balder goes up the Tower. Loki is not a happy man. Thor!

Gainful employment was not easy to come by, even in a castle. Balder was knocked off his feet half a dozen times before he got a clue. 

He helped hoist sacks of grain onto a shelf, but as soon as it was done, the kitchen boy vanished to tend to another task. The kitchen boy had no authority anyway. Balder tried clearing away empty pots, but they were snatched out of his hands and filled with chopped vegetables set to simmer. The serving men shoved him aside when he tried to carry plates into the hall. 

They were just too busy. Nobody asked who he was, or where he came from. They took no notice of him, except to yell, “Out of the way!”

Balder was trying to be inconspicuous, back plastered to a wall and making himself small, when a sudden breeze swept into the kitchen, and wove its way around the legs of tables and people like a phantom cat. 

The cook’s boys stomping in and out of the kitchen paid it no heed, but the old hostler who had been silently eating his pottage in the corner, jumped to his feet and flapped his hands at it with a frightened curse. It darted away and knocked over a couple of bowls on the table.

Beans hit the floor in a hail storm and scattered everywhere. 

It was at that moment a giant staggered into the kitchen, heaving a soup tureen. The man, if he could be called such, stood more than ten feet tall, his head brushing the ceiling, and his face and hands were an icy blue. Balder noted with a guilty start that he had bathed in that selfsame brass soup tureen only last night. 

“Out. Of. The. Way!” the giant bellowed, “Hot!”

A stunned silence dropped over the kitchen, and someone gasped. 

In that moment of frozen shock, Balder dashed out, and dragged the cook by his massive thighs before he could take another step, ignoring the scalding soup that spilled down his neck. He steered him around in an about-face turn, and four of the kitchen boys scurried to guide the pot to the closest table. 

The giant sputtered angrily at this impromptu dance, and skidded on a stray bean. He wind-milled wildly to stop his fall, knocked over Balder and ended up landing on a sack of flour. A cloud of white rose and fell on his blue skin like a dusting of snow. Scowling, he back-handed Balder with a blow that sent him flat on his back and set his skull ringing. 

Only then did the giant’s eye fall on the mess of beans that covered the kitchen floor, then on Balder, and then on the soup tureen, and realization dawned.

Embarrassed, the giant picked himself up, and letting out a deafening roar at the kitchen at large, shortly stomped out again to tend to his pots. After a collective sigh of relief, the kitchen went rushing back to their own business. 

From out of his corner, the hostler reached out and gave Balder a hand. 

“Never mind the jotunn, lad, he’s got a filthy temper,” he said. “But maybe he won’t eat you for breakfast now.” And chuckling, he hobbled out as well.

Forgotten again, Balder crouched under the table and picked at the beans. There were two sorts, black and yellow, both mixed liberally with dust and clumps of fuzz and dead bugs. With an intent focus, he started sorting them one by one, black on the left, yellow on the right. They kept rolling away. 

Someone handed him a pair of wooden bowls. It was an old woman with a face withered as a raisin and hands gnarled and thick with age and hard work. 

“It’s handy if they stay put.” 

Her name was Sigyn.

\-------

Afterwards, he sorted out the beans and washed them in cold water, swept up the kitchen, and wiped up the tables. When the serving men came back from the main hall and sat down to their own meal of bread and pottage, one of the kitchen boys wordlessly handed Balder a bowl, too.

Later, he plucked chickens and got his fingers all bloody from the feathers until someone showed him to dip them in hot water first. He emptied lampshades of dead moths, mucked out the goat shed, and boiled maggots out of blood splattered saddle cloths. They gave him the odd chores, the ones they didn’t feel like doing. 

Dusk was falling and he wondered idly where he was supposed to sleep. He was picking nettles out of the woodsman’s woolen breeches when Sigyn beckoned from a corner. He followed her through the narrow passages, down a flight of stairs, and found himself in the same small room he had awoken in. 

“I need you to do something for an old woman. My knees aren't what they used to be."

She packed a basket with cheese and bread, a joint of ham, and pulled a mangled pie from the cupboard. She clucked her tongue at the mess, and carefully cut out a neat slice and tucked it in with the rest.

Balder’s cheeks flushed at the sight. Loki had fed him that pie in the bath, scooping out inky black fruit with his fingers, and Balder had licked them clean. It was a good pie. 

She handed him the basket, and shuffled about the room. “Take this to the Blikstur, it’s the south by southeast tower. The broken, black one in the far end, past the granary, you can’t miss it.”

“What, the demon’s keep?” he gasped. The kitchen boys had been talking. “But it’s haunted by evil spirits. Anyone who goes near it is cursed!”

“Addle-pated boy,” said Sigyn, flicking her apron at him. “The only thing you’re cursed with is water in the brain is you listen to that sort of talk. Here, and take this with you.” 

It was the black cloak, cleaned and neatly folded. The old woman ran her rough fingers over it gently, as if it were a frightened animal. “Go on, now,” she flapped her hands at him, and muttered as if to herself. “It won’t do to keep him waiting.”

\-------

It wasn’t surprising that the kitchen boys and stable hands didn’t want to go near the tower. It was the one farthest from the main hall, and the stones were edged in soot as if this blighted corner of the castle had been set on fire. A heavy mist curled around it like a giant serpent, and the chill and damp sank through Balder’s tunic. He held the cloak to his chest for comfort.

From what Balder heard from the servants hall gossip, the lord Tyr held a wicked spirit captive in the black tower. Some said it was a powerful seithmagr, others a monstrous wolf, a wyrm, while sager tongues conjectured that it was probably a disgraced political rival. It was rumored that the order had come down from the golden throne of Asgard, from the great Allfather himself, and in all the realms only lord Tyr’s strength could keep the prisoner chained. 

If that were true, Balder thought, he should have kept a few locks on the door. It swung open at the slightest push.

Discarded baskets littered the floor, their half-eaten viands starting to rot, the empty bottles attracting flies. He could leave his basket here and run, as the others had done. But something was up there, and he was drawn to it.

The stairs spiraled endlessly upwards, and when he looked up to see how far he had left to go, he saw only mist. And it was moving. It was creeping down the stone steps. 

Stupidly, Balder scared himself remembering that outside it had seemed like a monstrous serpent curled around the tower. Now all he could see was a serpent.

The white-green mist came rolling down with increasing speed, and seemed to grow denser, with nothing so well defined as the giant maw that yawned wide, fangs dripping with venom. It let out a hoarse scream that almost knocked Balder off his feet, and lunged for him. 

Quickly, Balder threw the shadowy cape over his shoulders, and it hurled him straight into the serpent’s mouth. 

Wrapped in the cloak, he cut through the mist like a bullet of smoke, and the serpent exploded around him in drops of moisture and vapor again, and the shadow flew. 

It was as if the cloak was wearing him, not the other way around, carrying him up to the highest reach of the tower. 

There, he was unceremoniously dumped out of the cloak, and he went rolling across a stone floor. A boot heel caught him before he fell. He stared, wide-eyed over the ledge where the floor abruptly broke off in the middle and dropped down all the way down to the ground. 

“That’s the quickest way out. You’re welcome to take it,” snarled Loki. Balder stared up at him. It was the same face, and completely different.

This Loki was haggard and seemed even taller and more gaunt than before. His cheeks were sunken in, and his eyes were burning with madness, seething with hatred. Balder was hauled up by the collar, his feet dangling over nothing. 

“Am I to be fed fresher meats, now that I’m truly a monster?” hissed Loki, taking them both too close to the edge.

Balder should have been scared out of his wits, and he was, but a small, white core inside him was not. He’d seen death up close, lived with it, slept beside it, and this wasn’t it. 

This was what had saved him from death. 

“You can eat me if you want,” he said meekly, “but I wanted to see you again.”

Loki drew back, confused, and Balder gestured at his arm. By some miracle, he was still holding on to the basket. With a weary sigh, Loki swung him back over from the ledge, and tossed him none too gently on the stone floor.

The cell at the top of the tower was open to the sky, the roof having been blown off, or struck by lightning at one time, and the circular floor was broken into a jagged half moon face. It was unfurnished, with not even a chair or a simple pallet to relieve the emptiness. There was only a pile of straw, as if this lonely tower was meant to house an animal. 

Balder sat up, reached inside the basket, and pulled out cheese, bread, and a green bottle, spreading them out like a picnic.

“I did as you said my lor – Loki. I got work. At least, they let me do some of the work.” And he rattled on mindlessly to settle the fear inside, and as he talked, he realized he wasn’t afraid much. His idle chatter seemed to calm Loki, who laughed at him.

“So, you sat on the floor and sorted the peas from the lentils. A task worthy of a princess. Are you a hidden princess, Balder?” 

Loki had walked over to an open window. He was watching the road, where, in the far distance a small cloud of dust was slowly making its way towards the hall.

“And I found Sigyn, too, just as you told me to. She sent you all this, the food, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t eat anything she’s touched. That hag’s been trying to poison me for years.”

“And there’s pie,” said Balder hopefully. “Maybe you’ll like it?”

Loki gave him a sharp glance. “I killed her husband, did you know that? Gutted him like a fish,” he spat, as if daring Balder to flinch. Balder held his gaze and tried to smile instead. 

“Aren’t you afraid of me, Balder?” whispered Loki, leaning close.

Balder nodded slowly. “A little. But I don’t care.” He held onto his smile, though he was sure he looked like an imbecile. 

“Didn’t you listen to what they’re saying? How I’m a monster? A malevolent spirit? A demon? How I’ve killed hundreds of innocent people, thousands, not caring how many I’ve left burning in my wake? It’s all true, you know. I’ve done all that and more.”

Balder had things trying to kill him too, his head still ached where the giant had hit him, and he was probably bruising all over. He had been nobody and nothing, and turned inside out with fear. But now it wasn’t the fear that mattered. It was the warmth.

“Okay,” he said softly.

“You’re not afraid of what I’ll do to you? I could fling you out of this window, just for the sport of seeing you fall.”

Balder swallowed hard. “But you’d catch me too. Like you did last time.”

In the half light of dusk turning to night, Loki’s face was blank and unreadable, but his fingers ghosted across Balder’s cheek, and his eyes turned kind. 

It lasted for a heartbeat before the bubble burst.

Outside, the hall was stirring. Even from the farthermost tower, Balder could hear the massive front gates groaning, and the sound of horses and excitement. Loki jerked away from him, muttering under his breath a curse or a prayer: “Thor.” 

From the floor, Loki picked up the dark feathered cloak, turning it round and round in his nervous hands as if they were prayer beads, pausing once to glance out the window before pulling away sharply to pace the floors. 

As the shadows danced in the black tower, Loki seemed to shrug off the cast of misery, shifting into something weightless and elusive, and oddly younger the way he had been the night before. He threw the cloak over his shoulders, and for a second, he flickered in and out, as if he was partly made of smoke. His pacing took on a frenetic energy that crackled, and he looked as if he might cry and laugh at once.

“They say this tower is cursed,” said Balder.

Loki stopped, startled as if he had forgotten that Balder was here at all.

“Perhaps I am the one who’s cursed,” said Loki but he was smiling in a way that was hopeful and scared that Balder knew had nothing to do with him. He was nothing but a distraction to pass the time away until this. Until Thor.

“You’re cursed?” Balder persisted, and grabbed the hem on of the cloak. “What kind of curse?”

“Why, sweet Balder, Balder the good, Balder the fearless,” crooned Loki, drawing him up and lacing his fingers behind Balder’s neck. “Are you worried about me?”

“Maybe I can help you break it.”

“Yes, because you’re the special hidden key.” He heard the smile curl around the words.

“Is it the curse that keeps you here? Is it what turns you into a monster?” 

Loki pulled back sharply. 

Balder flinched -- _stupid, stupid_ \-- and he thought Loki might hit him, but after a moment, Loki only let out a deep sigh and pulled him close, as he had when they were flying.

“A monster,” Loki murmured into his hair. “Yes, perhaps that is all there is to it, a monster and a curse, dripping with malice, barbed with poison. Only a fool would hold a knife to his heart, only a fool.”

From the base of the tower came the sound of loud voices arguing and the tattoo of rapid footsteps echoing on the stone. Loki came to a decision.

The shadow cape whirled around him, and Loki laughed softly as they were enveloped in glittering smoke again. 

“You are right, Balder, my sweet wise child. This hall is too crowded for a monster tonight. Let us be off.”

Heavy footsteps and the jangle of armor drew near, and into the tower cell came a great lord with a hammer and a crimson cloak, who bellowed, “Loki!”

But wrapped in smoke and shadow, they leapt from the window into the night sky, and they were gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balder lets go of fear, Loki fears Thor will let go, and they all go hunting for monsters.

Balder clutched to Loki for dear life as they fell out of the tower. They dropped just long enough to create momentum before Loki swung them upwards again on an invisible cord, and they were flung over the wall. The chase was on.

He could hear the ruckus in the yard, the men turning their horses around and charging after them, out of the castle and into the valley. The lord in the crimson cloak was in front, urging his tired mount relentlessly and ignoring the calls from his companions to stop.

Wrapped in shadow, they were racing through the woods, but not too high or too fast. Loki kept to the open path, not trying to fly over a dense copse or an overgrown thicket. It was either habit, or was he avoiding paths where the horses could not pass? Holding close to Loki’s neck, Balder saw his glances darting back as they fled, keeping an eye on their pursuer. 

“You’re not really trying, are you?” 

“What?” Loki swerved just in time and barely avoided hitting a tree.

“You want to get caught,” he insisted. 

Loki fumed at him. “Don’t be absurd, child. Just for that I would drop you right here.”

“Right, and then that guy who’s chasing us would save me.”

With a snarl, his grip tightening around Balder, Loki picked up speed and flew straight up, making a sharp left to pounce on top of a tree. Below, the other riders had finally caught up with the first rider.

“Thor, stop! You’ll run your horse into the ground. This is pointless.”

“But he was there, Sif! It was Loki!” 

Their horses slowed to a canter, and the riders followed his gaze upwards and straight through the spot where Loki and Balder were huddled under the cloak, only partially obscured by the bare branches. Balder held his breath until he realized that in their eyes, it must be like staring at smoke against a darkening sky. 

The large man with a wild red beard shook his head. “You’re only chasing ghosts, Thor. There is nothing.” 

While the lord in the crimson cloak circled the clearing, peering up at the seemingly empty branches, the others turned their horses one by one and slowly made their way back. With a sigh, Thor set off after them. 

Loki swallowed a hiss and a muttered curse, and they continued on their flight.

\-------

It didn’t take long to reach the edge of the forest, and soon they were gliding low over a vast sea of purple hills. The tall grass swayed, susurrating like sleeping waves, dotted by a thousand white flowers that bloomed at night. In the sky two moons, one almost twice as large as the other, made their unhurried progress across the sky.

Closing his eyes, Balder breathed deep, felt the wind in his hair and in his nostrils and the hint of smoke from the shadowy cloak. For the first time in ages, he was enjoying himself, buoyed by an inexplicable sense of joy. Their flight dipped and rose, and every once in a while Balder reached down to trail his fingers over long grasses that gently released their seeds in greeting.

“Good, we’ve lost them, the fools,” Loki was saying spitefully. “Thor couldn’t find a rotten hedgehog in his own bed, if it crawled under his pillow and died.” 

Balder craned his neck up at him like an owl. In his thoughts, Loki was still back in the woods; he was still pacing the black tower like a caged animal. Balder laughed at him. 

“If you wanted to see him so badly, you could have just turned around.”

“Why, you presumptuous little beggar – ”

“Watch out!”

Distracted, Loki had missed the sudden rise of a hillock, and they careened into the side, hitting patches of clover and dirt. They tumbled down one hill and were slowed only by the gentle incline of the next. 

Balder went rolling in the grass, which was sweet-smelling and had softened his fall. As soon as he could pick himself up, he starting running. He ran whooping up at the night, at the two moons, and at Loki, who after a shocked pause chased after him, shouting himself hoarse about how he would flay Balder raw with his own entrails, or hang him by his thumbs over a pit of scorpions. 

Loki’s casual threats were bothering him less and less. Perhaps because Loki was oddly clumsy and kept stumbling after the flight, as if he was having trouble adjusting from being a creature of smoke and shadow, to having to deal with such cumbersome things as knees. Perhaps because the night was so peaceful, the fields so lovely, the light from unequal moons so alien yet tranquil. Or perhaps it was because Balder couldn’t help tossing handfuls of grass at Loki each time he got close, just to see that indignant look on his face. 

Maybe Balder had used up all his fear and this was what it meant to be fearless. Maybe he had finally lost his mind, and darkness was light, fear was boldness, and madness the first step to freedom.

So he wasn’t scared when Loki finally caught up with him, and they fell together into the clover on the hills outside of the Hall of Tyrseng. Catching his breath, Loki raised himself up on one elbow and Balder, still heady with euphoria, gazed up at him and plucked a half crushed flower out of his dark hair. It was then that something shifted in his head, and he felt more tender than a petal, as serene as the hills. A slow smile spread over his face. 

“So, that was Thor,” whispered Balder, silent laughter bubbling up. “If you’d let him catch you, then it would be you lying here in the grass on your back, and he’d be the one looking at you like… like…” _like he wanted to eat you alive._

He blinked, and the sight of Loki gave him an odd pang, as if the warmth in his stomach was curling upwards like a gold thread to twist him from the inside. Was this what madness felt like?

But Loki was lost in that wild faraway look again, and it wasn’t Balder he was seeing at all. 

“Like he wants to drag me back in chains to face the lash of justice. I know, I know.” And with a groan, Loki slumped onto his back again, and threw an arm over his eyes.

For a while they lay there side by side, Balder staring up at the eerie light of two moons playing off each other, his head still reeling and willing his heart to beat more softly, and Loki, oblivious and wallowing in a thick tar of self-pity.

When he thought his voice wouldn’t shake, Balder asked quietly, “Why?”

“Why?” scoffed Loki, glancing out at him from under his arm. “Why, haven’t you been listening, Balder? I’m a dangerous criminal. A mad, pitiless creature that laughs as it razes civilization into the dust. I deserve to be cast down into a fiery pit, to be strung up by my entrails.” He waved his hand impatiently. “To hang on Odin’s gallows till I’ve died nine deaths times nine, that sort of thing. This isn’t a joke, child. I am to suffer. He has to punish.”

“I’m not a child!” Balder sat up, pounding the soft earth with his fists. “And you’re over-reacting.”

Loki sneered at him and got to his feet.

“You are nothing _but_ a child. You understand nothing.”

He marched off along the spine of the hillock, his shadow cloak flapping behind him like a dying moth. Balder scrambled after him. 

“I understand more than you think!” he bleated. Even to himself, he sounded pitifully young. This was so unfair. “Could your brother maybe help? The other night, you said you had a – ”

A bitter laugh floated behind Loki. “Thor _is_ my brother.”

“Oh. _Ohhh._ But – ” He shook his head to dispel that train of thought. “Well, maybe if you explained –”

Ahead of him, the cloak seemed to flicker in and out again, as if it would wink out of existence and take Loki along with it.

“And what sort of explanation would suffice? I am a monster and I have failed, I have failed and I am a monster. Must I crawl as well? Supplicate, beg mercy for my sins, bare my very soul so he can peer at the truth of what I am? And why would I wish for that? When the mighty Thor realizes what a vile creature he’s kept so close, disgust would overcome him, and I would truly be cast aside. Is forgiveness worth the cold eye of comprehension? What kinship would you feel with a lizard?”

“But if he’s your brother, he’d accept you for –”

Loki heaved a weary sigh. “I would rather he thought me wicked than grotesque.” 

“If _I_ were your brother, it wouldn’t matter what you were,” said Balder, rushing to catch up. “I wouldn’t ever turn away from you. I’d stay with you no matter what.”

Loki gave him a sharp, nasty smile. “Would you now? How delightful.” But his step faltered, and he fell on one knee, breathing hard. Balder knelt beside him and Loki gripped his shoulder as a spasm of pain shot through him. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you feel weak? What is it?”

Loki gasped and went pale. “I’m cursed, you imbecile. Hah –” Even his lips had lost color. “Your pledge of loyalty, Balder.” He swallowed hard. “This would not be, _ah_ , the occasion to, test it. Run, child.”

“I’m not leaving you,” said Balder, holding desperately to Loki’s arm, despite Loki’s attempts to shake him off. 

“Now is not the time – _ngghh_ ” Loki was hunched over, fists digging into the ground, gritting his teeth until he could bear it no longer, and let out a scream like a stab in the eye. 

His breath came in shallow gasps as he shuddered in pain, and crouched beside him, all Balder could do was stroke his back and murmur nonsense, as if he was trying to calm a wild animal. A crash of lightning split the sky, and vaguely, he could hear a growing commotion in the valley below, but he was transfixed by the turmoil before him.

It was the cloak that was doing it, Balder was sure. It shifted and rippled, blanking out in smoke one moment, bulging and bursting into a growth of scales the next. Balder tried to tear it off, and underneath, Loki bit back another scream. 

It wasn’t the cloak that was changing. It was Loki. His hand, once narrow and pale against the grass, grew rigid tendons and claws that dug deep into the dirt. His back had tripled in size and had grown a motley coat of scales and feathers and shaggy black fur. 

A deep-set rumble shook the ground, and still Balder held on, kept stroking its – his – head and neck and whispered, _you’re going to be fine, I’m here, I won’t leave you, you’re still you,_ until the creature – Loki – roared at him, and Balder fell on his back. The creature who was Loki drew back in a guarded stance, and they stared at each other. 

Loki transformed was larger than a bull, though more wolf-like in face, his black fur long and shaggy and glittering with patches of icy blue scales and iridescent feathers. When Balder tried to reaching out to stroke him, he snapped, and a jagged ruff stood up framing his head like the crest of a lizard.

“Stop _petting_ me,” Loki hissed. “I am not your _dog_.” It spoke with Loki’s voice, though the whisper reverberated with odd harmonics.

“You can talk!” gasped Balder.

“Of course I can talk. I’m still Loki.” But there was a note of surprise in it, too. He glared balefully at Balder. “I thought I told you to stay away.”

“And I told you I was going to stay, and I will.” 

Loki snarled at him, showing all this teeth, but a shiver went through his body. In agony, he dug his shoulder roughly into the hillside, as if he would skin himself alive if that way this poisonous hide would come off.

“Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

“No, it’s like bathing in cream,” said Loki waspishly. “Of course I’m in pain, you fool. I’ve broken every bone in my body to make a new one.”

“Can’t you change back?”

“Do you think I choose to look the part of a monster? Cease asking questions. Hop on.” 

And without warning, he flung Balder onto his back and set off across the hill. Balder sunk his fingers into the warm shaggy fur; it still smelled of smoke, and magic crackled like still burning embers. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Balder could barely hear his own voice over the wind. “Does it wear off at sunrise? How does the curse work? How can I help?”

“It helps if I stop thinking about it,” said Loki. “It helps if I hurt things.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Balder murmured into his neck.

“No,” said Loki, as they raced down the slope. “It wasn’t easy. You’re quite annoying.”

Balder’s thighs were numb against the creature Loki’s flank, his body flattened against the curve of his back, but Balder maintained his grip. It was close enough to flying, to coming undone again, but this time it was to be put together whole again.

They came to an abrupt stop where the hill broke off overlooking the valley. Above, the storm was wild like no storm Balder had ever seen before, gouging open the sky in scar of sickly yellow and purple and spilling out a fury of screaming things. 

The same creatures that had hunted him.

It took a moment to make out the shapes and figures through the raging chaos, and for a second, Balder was falling into an icy pool of his old fears, the waters closing over his head. He thought his heart would stop, that he would bend over and be sick. 

“They always find me,” Loki whispered. “In this guise, in smoke, they can always sniff me out. No barren moon, no crevice where I can hide -- ” 

Loki stopped short. Balder’s knee was trembling against his shoulder as was the rest of him, and Loki’s eyes narrowed in pity. 

“You pathetic child. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. We’ll turn back.”

That brought him sharply to, and though he was shaking more furiously than ever, Balder pushed down the fear until it turned steely. His fists gripped the shaggy coat until his own fingernails were digging into his palms, and he barely noticed that a dagger had formed in his hands, seemingly out of rage and magic, its long dark blade gleaming green and terrible. It felt natural there.

“No,” said Balder. “You said it helps to hurt things. Let’s go hurt things.”

“Are you sure of this?” 

“If you kill when they want you to, you’re a hero.” He must have read that somewhere.

With a bark of a laugh, Loki paced back and forth, his nervousness running through Balder like a conduit.

“Your first kill, how sweet. Then let us make a man out of you.” He threw back and howled in mockery. “For Asgard!”

 _For me,_ prayed Balder, and they bounded down the hill and leapt into the fray. 

\-------

From all around the creatures poured in, screeching as if to murder the sky itself. It seemed that they had stumbled upon an enclosure at the foot of the hills, where a lone goat boy had penned his herd for the night. Now, a dozen goats lay bleating piteously as the creatures feasted on their entrails and tore off limbs. The frightened animals stampeded in all directions, only to be picked up one by one. Balder’s first kill was a dying goat, half-eaten and left hanging on a pine. 

Glutted on their feast, the creatures did not immediately turn to attack. With his greater bulk, Loki trampled on three at once, and Balder swung out blindly, and almost dropped the dagger when it hit flesh. The creature reared to pull him down before Loki tore off its head.

“Aim for the throat,” he growled, and took down another pair of them. “Or the eyes. Or the stomach. Anywhere that’s soft.”

“Are you saying that I can actually aim with this thing?” yelled Balder. 

But he managed to hang on, and Loki’s teeth and claws drove them back long enough for the blade to make its kill. They slashed their way through the horde, ichor burning the grass where the creatures fell. It was the element of surprise that got Balder this far. He swung his blade at the grasping, clawing things, and knocked one off with the hilt of the dagger from where it had sunk its teeth. Only then did Balder catch sight of several tracks of blood glistening on the black coat.

“Are you hurt? he shouted. Loki batted the creature aside and stepped on its neck.

“You wanted to kill. Kill!”

A flash of thunder split the sky, and when Balder turned to look up the breach was sealed. But that was only for a second, and he was back to slashing and kicking out at the things. The creatures on the ground had scattered, though their numbers still covered the field like a scabrous disease. There was the distant sound of horses and shouting, and Loki stilled. “Time to leave. We’re finished here.”

Then, above the noise of fighting, Balder whirled around at the sound of a high-pitched scream, not from the vicious creatures or the frightened goats. It was almost like hearing himself. 

“No, over there.” Several of the creatures were clawing to reach the top of a shed where the goat boy was clutching at his mauled leg. “We can get to him.” Before they do. 

Loki was already turning for the hills. “He’ll find his own way.”

“No!” And without waiting for an answer, he jumped down and went charging at the creatures, yelling and swinging his dagger over his head like a battle-axe.

“Oh, by Ymir’s icy tits, don’t _warn_ them –”

Balder got the first one stabbing it up the back, and the dagger sliced through a claw before the second one knocked him down. The kid on the roof was screaming – was he ever that helpless? – and Balder kicked out and slashed wildly before the black shape of Loki descended. 

Loki tore through the mass of them, even as the creatures clawed at him and sank teeth into flesh. Smoke rolled off the cloak with blood. He was slowing down, his breath was labored, and he turned, a second too slow, as the last of the creatures leapt for his throat. 

The next instant, it was met with the swing of a hammer in a sickening crunch of bone, and another swing took off its head before it could strike. 

Balder looked up. The lord in the crimson cloak: Thor. A hunting party was behind him, circling the shed, horses shying at the stench of blood and ichor. 

Before Balder could speak, before Loki could flee, as smoke or as a beast, Thor raised his hand to give the order. When it came down, three spears went flying, and the creature that was Loki was brought to the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor goes toe to toe with Tyr. Balder’s lips are sealed. Volstagg dishes out how Loki was not a nice kid. And Tyr gives the son of Odin a good bollocking.

“What a vile mess,” said Sif. Wrinkling her nose daintily, she hauled a dripping mess of slime and claws and ichor onto the bonfire. “Thor, these creatures are not of the Nine, and that is no mere wolf. It reeks of dark magic.” 

“What’ll we do with the thing, Thor? Take it back and skin it? You’ll be sporting a fine new wolf pelt for the winter.”

The large man with the wild red beard was swinging his double-headed axe over to where Loki was pinned to the ground with three spears. A pool of blood was welling from his side, and Balder’s vision went white. 

“No!’ cried Balder and scrambled for him, but Volstagg dropped the axe and caught Balder up with the ease of a father used to wrestling with his children. Dead men don’t bleed, Balder remembered from somewhere and tried to believe it. Dead men don’t bleed. 

Thor turned away in disgust, shaking his head. “I’ll not have some poisonous filth wrapped around my neck. Cut off its head, Volstagg, and burn the carcass with the rest.” 

“Come now, there’s a brave lad,” said Volstagg. “We won’t harm you. We won’t let the beast harm you, neither. Sif, there’s another one hiding up on the roof,” he called out, “I’d go myself, but.” He shrugged, and gestured at his bulk or the armful of squirming Balder. Sif scoffed and climbed nimbly up on the shed to retrieve the gibbering goat boy, and wrapped him and Balder snugly in her cloak. Volstagg picked up his axe. 

“Don’t hurt him! Don’t!” Balder struggled to get out of the cloak, and the goat boy started shrieking in his ear in mindless terror, and they wrestled in a tangled nightmare. 

Strong hands pulled him out; it was Thor.

“Don’t! Please don’t -- He’s –” _Loki_ “He’s – ” _your brother_. 

But the words stuck in his throat, as if they were caught in some sort of magic netting, and what came out was only a choked rattle. 

“He saved us – you don’t understand – those things that attacked us – He’s – ” _Loki_. 

The name burned before it touched air. “Why won’t you speak?” he yelled at Loki’s inert body. “Tell him! Stop pretending you’re dead and tell him!”

“His wits are addled,” said Thor. “He’s a brave lad, fighting off these monsters with only a –” 

Thor stopped, and his eye fell on the long curved dagger in Balder’s grip. “Where did you get this knife?” demanded Thor, and his entire countenance changed, like a sudden storm. “This does not belong to you! Who gave you this, boy? Did you steal it? Answer me!” 

“Thor, no! What’s come over you? Stop!” Sif rushed to stop him, but Thor tightened his grip, shaking Balder like a rag doll. 

A vicious snarl came from Loki, and gathering the last of his strength, he tore through one of the spears and lunged for Thor, his eyes gone red and bloody. Thor whirled around, Balder struggling on one arm, Loki’s teeth sunk into his leg, and struck off the beast with his hammer. Loki fell in a crumpled bloody heap, and giving him a final kick to the head, Thor spat on him. 

“Filthy beast. I’ll finish this.” 

The sting of tears blinded Balder, and he screamed and thrashed as someone pulled him away – it was Sif – and his throat burning with secrets, Balder slipped out of her grip and threw himself across Loki’s monstrous form, just as Thor raised his hammer --

 

“STOP, THUNDERER!” 

The voice boomed across the field like a great horn, and the air stilled around it. In a split second, the hammer swerved from its course and landed shuddering in the dirt next to Balder’s head. 

A small party slowly made their way to the shed, some on horses, others carrying torches and on foot. Faintly, his head lying in the dirt, Balder noticed the giant, lumbering shoulders above the rest in the back. In this light, it was hard to tell he was blue. Leading this group was a large man on a great black charger whose reins he held in one good hand, the other arm ending in a stump with which he calmed his excited mount. He had a pointed black beard that stubbornly refused to be called grey, and a heavily lined face that belied a millennia of fighting his own furious temper. It was the warlord Tyr. 

“My good prince, you’ve let slip the berserker,” said Tyr, his voice deep and measured now. “But the battle is done. I see no worthy opponent who’s challenged you.” His eyes flickered briefly over the broken mess that was Loki, and met Balder’s. “Surely, you do not mean to fight this boy.”

“No, I – ” Thor shook his head, dazed. “The boy had fought off these creatures who were attacking this flock – ”

“And you, in turn, have made short work of them. I thank you.” 

Tyr gave a curt order to his men, and they went through the field to tend to the animals that could be saved, and cull the ones that were too far gone. Tyr dismounted to examine the bodies of slain goats and their attackers alike.

“No, we came only at the end.” Thor was shaking his head again, and clarity was a pinprick in his eyes. “I sealed the tear in the sky. By that time half the flock had already been cut down. And then I saw this vile beast -- ” 

“I am familiar with these things,” said Tyr, turning one of the creatures over with his foot. “But, these aren’t the marks of a blade. And I don’t think it was cut down by its own.”

“It was this wolf- _thing_ , the senseless slaughter, the attack on the boy –”

“What attacked the boys? This… _wolf_ , or the creatures it brought down?”

“If the beasts turned upon each other, what difference does it make?” demanded Thor. 

Tyr heaved a sigh. When he finally did speak, he looked like he’d held back a multitude in his scowl. 

“Not all beasts are alike, Thor. And not all need taming to be dear to us. It will please you to remember that.”

“Are you saying that this… this vile creature is yours?” Thor asked incredulously. “I know you’re partial to the beasts, wolf lord, but this is a monster!”

Tyr’s black charger had ambled in between the huddled bleeding mess and a bristling Thor, and snorting amiably, proceeded to graze on a patch of dandelions as if the two men weren’t about to come to blows. The warlord gazed stonily at Thor. 

“No, Thor, that is not what I am saying. Of all the beings in the nine realms, I would never lay claim to such a thing. But that doesn’t matter here. You’ve made a right mess of him.” He gave a signal for his men to remove the beast, and made it clear that for him, the matter was closed. “My people will clear up the rest. Now, if the prince will be returning to the hall,” said Tyr, inclining his head, “we would be honored to host such a gracious company.”

For a moment, Thor looked mutinous, but Volstagg sidled up and planted a firm hand on his shoulder.

“These boys need attention, Thor, and a good night’s rest. And I’ll be welcoming a good tankard of ale to wash away this sight, and so will you.”

“That settles it, then,” said Sif. “You all know what I’m like when I’m hungry,” and Volstagg burst out laughing, more to dispel the tension. With an impatient huff, Sif settled the goat boy on her saddle, and her horse pranced in circles around the clearing. “Bring the other one, and be gentle. Oh, and Thor, you owe him an apology.” With that, Sif put spurs to her horse and she was off.

The stormy glower had lifted from Thor’s face, leaving him looking abashed and rather boyish. From his horse, he looked around for Balder, who recoiled from his hand.

“This boy was brave,” said Thor, “and much too good to be wasted herding goats. I treated him poorly. What is your name, boy?” 

Balder glared defiantly back at Thor, but Volstagg gave him a kindly, encouraging smile. 

“Balder,” he muttered. “My name’s Balder.”

But Thor flinched as if Balder had cut him, and Volstagg took the opportunity to swing Balder up on his saddle. 

Thor had recovered, his face a noble mask again, though he looked rather sad. Balder almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “I am sorry for my harsh words, Balder, and I wish to make redress. I am in need of a servant in this hall, and I believe you will be up to the task.” Thor made up his mind and nodded at Volstagg, and turning his horse quickly, he set off at a furious pace after Sif. 

“No -- !” But Balder’s voice was muffled, as he was tucked into the crook of Volstagg’s massive arm. Straining to look behind him, Balder swallowed a sob as he tried to catch a last glimpse of the mangled creature that was Loki.

But instead of throwing Loki’s body into the fire, one of Tyr’s men – it was the giant – gathered him up carefully in his arms, and wrapping him in a blanket, laid him across Lord Tyr’s own black charger.

\-------

Thor’s horse quickly caught up to Sif’s. At a comfortable distance behind, Volstagg did little to urge his mount, which was twice the size of a champion Clydesdale, and instead settled back and hummed pleasantly. They caught the drift of laughter as Thor and Sif threw playful barbs at each other, and raced in sporadic bursts of speed.

“Ah, there’s the lad we know and love,” rumbled Volstagg into his beard “Too many cares have worn him down of late.”

Balder fumed at the sight of the crimson cape billowing ahead of them. “I hate him,” said Balder. “I won’t be his servant, I won’t.”

“Now, now, lad, don’t say that,” said Volstagg. “Hate is a strong word, and you don’t really know him. He is the greatest prince of the Nine Realms and a kind one at that. This is a great honor for you. Granted,” Volstagg smoothed his beard, “you didn’t see him at his absolute best today, but he _is_ one of the good ones, noble and brave and fair. He has the best of hearts.”

“He hates _me_ ,” muttered Balder. 

“Well, that was unfortunate,” said Volstagg. “But it wasn’t personal, and why would he hate you, you little scamp? He doesn’t know you. Lately he’s been crazed with wild notions, mind. Chasing shadows, ghosts. And that name didn’t help either, but you can’t help your name, now, can you? Or maybe you can. How about we call you, Bjar, instead? As a sort of nickname?”

“No,” said Balder stubbornly. “It’s my name.” _Loki gave it to me_ “What’s wrong with it? Does it mean something bad?” It would be just like Loki to give him a name that meant “toenail clippings” or “shriveled-up dick” or worse.

Volstagg sighed. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s only a memory, merely an old sting, nothing compared to the hurt he’s carrying now.”

“Tell me about it,” urged Balder, in a more amenable tone. “If I’m going to be his servant, I don’t want to put my foot in it.”

Volstagg frowned at the odd phrase. “It was when Thor and his brother were boys. His brother Loki, the second prince.”

 _Loki_ , the name leapt in Balder’s mind, but it died on his tongue. He could only manage a choked gasp, and Volstagg shook his head, mistaking his meaning.

“He’s not _completely_ bad, not to the core, so don’t believe _all_ the things people are saying about him. But ever since he was a boy trouble followed that one like his own shadow. Back in those days, I was cooling my heels at the hall, fresh from the Vanaheim campaign – it was my first war, and I’d been my lord’s own bannerman – and everyone was tired of fighting and craving a long boring spot of peace. 

“That was when the sons of Odin were sent to Tyrseng. They spent some years here, Thor and Loki, before they came of age, trained in combat by the Lord of War himself. But other than that, they were left to run free all over the countryside. The Allfather wanted that for his boys, a place where they could _be_ boys for a while, not princes of the realm. Loki was never the open sort. And then Thor left for court because he was the older one. 

“I suppose Loki missed his brother something terrible. He used to follow him everywhere, you know. Even when they were grown, you couldn’t see one without the other. We used to find it rather tiresome.” Volstagg laughed sadly. 

“Now, I wish we could all go back to that time. Sometimes I wonder if Loki hated us all those years for taking up his brother’s attention. He never showed it. And now he’s gone, and Thor is like this lost thing, looking over his shoulder, imagining his brother is there as usual to laugh at his jokes or come up with a cutting remark, and finding there’s no one. Chasing shadows, I told you. He sees ghosts of his brother everywhere, follows down every rumor of his whereabouts, and always, there’s nothing. If Loki only knew how much heartache he’s caused….”

Balder didn’t want to hear about that. “But what happened when they were young?” he demanded.

“What? Oh, yes, the story of the name. Well, as I was telling you, Loki was left here alone after Thor went to court, and to cheer up the lad, lord Tyr gave him a fine boarhound, worth the price of a horse. Right wonderful bitch she was, clever, beautiful, sensitive, and she took to him like anything. Obeyed a hundred commands before he finished giving them, knew what he wanted from a twitch of his fingers, a mere look, a shift in the air. A boy and his first dog, there’s nothing like that kind of bond again. I had a dog like that once, a mutt he was, with liver markings down his –”

“What happened then?” Balder cut in, and Volstagg grumbled. “You’re an impatient one, aren’t you? You’ll have to hold that in check when you’re serving the prince.” But he resumed the story. 

“After a while, Thor came to visit, of course, bringing with him all his new friends from court. Not just myself and Sif, and Fandral and Hogun. All the slimy new hangers-on who wanted to get close to the golden prince, and they flattered him shamelessly. They were always smiling to his face, and tearing each other down behind his back. Thor thought they were harmless. Anyway, Thor came to see his younger brother. Loki had his hound with him as usual, slinking at the back of the crowd and rather unforthcoming. The lad had a tendency to sulk even then, and I suppose he was angry at some slight or other. Maybe he’d missed Thor and thought he should have visited sooner, or he was displeased with the present Thor had brought him. Maybe he didn’t like Thor’s new friends. 

“His hound picked up on the trouble, of course, and when Thor was admiring the beast, she bit him. It wasn’t a serious bite, but it was bad behavior, and the dog was sent down to the kennels for the night. She was a fine hound, but Loki had spoiled her rotten, and she’d taken to sleeping in his bed. This is not a very pleasant tale. Ah, we’re almost home.”

Balder looked out at the dim outline of the hall and the many lights that flared up as Thor and Sif made clear their approach, and waited patiently. Volstagg sighed again and went on.

“The next morning, when Loki went to let her out, the hound was dead. Poisoned. Some fool thought it would please the older prince. I’d never heard Loki scream like that before, and never have since. He refused to be consoled about it, carrying on like a maid whose sweetheart had been murdered. But I suppose we’re such fools when it comes to our dogs, dumb beasts that they are. 

“Thor felt quite deeply about this. He rode out for days and when he finally returned, he had tucked up his sleeve a dear white-haired pup, the best of the litter from an excellent hunter, and he gifted it to his brother. Balder was the name Thor gave it, Balder the good, Balder the brave, this dog would be even better than the old one, so hush up and dry your eyes, he said. Loki thanked his brother, quite sweetly I remember even now, and then he went out and drowned the puppy in the well. 

“Lord Tyr had him whipped for that, dog or no dog – it was a drinking well after all, and the deed was mean-spirited. But the lad didn’t cry once.” Volstagg cleared his throat and spat on the side of the road. “He didn’t care much for dogs after that.” 

The torches blazed on either side as they rode across the drawbridge. Balder supposed he should have been paying attention; this was the first time he had seen the castle up front, and here was a real moat. But the roar of the fire echoed in his head, as if he was stuck inside a giant conch, and he vaguely registered stablehands rushing forward to take the horses. Thor was already calling for the healers, and the courtyard was bustling with servants.

“And here I am,” Balder muttered almost to himself. “Like a slap in the face.” 

“From a ghost, no less.” Volstagg grunted, and lifting him from the saddle, set Balder down on the cobblestones. “Don’t let on that I told you the tale, there’s a good lad. I’m prone to overspilling, even when I’m not in my cups. And be good to him, you hear? He has enough griefs to shoulder as it is, without a worthless serving boy to pick up after. Run along now. Go get yourself seen to.”

\-------

Balder was still smarting when the healers released him. He was smothered in a foul-smelling salve, and while the strange metallic powder they had sprinkled over his more serious cuts had closed up the gashes, it left deep aches and faint purple yellow bruising on his skin.

“As a reminder for you to be more careful next time,” said the stern looking woman, and Balder scowled at her but didn’t talk back. The next time he planned on getting bruited about by vicious alien monsters, oh, he would try to be more careful. 

One of the nurses came by with a delicate china plate with two slivers of apple on it, one for him and one for the goat boy. They were cut as thin as paper, but even that was enough to flood the healing room with a sudden suffusion of golden light and the scent of spring, and the taste on his tongue sent a surge of renewed strength through him.

“Sleep now. You need rest,” said the nurse, and closed his eyelids as if he was a corpse. But Balder couldn’t sleep.

While he had been laid out on his back, poked and prodded, he had caught sight of the old woman, Sigyn, hobble in and mutter something to one of the healers, who had packed up his satchel and quietly left with her. 

When his nurse’s back was turned, he slid off the pallet and snuck out into the hallway. The healer’s footsteps were muted, but he could hear Sigyn’s walking stick thumping on the stone floor. He waited to put some distance between them so he wouldn’t be detected, but he had to hurry when they exited the main hall and headed for the outer grounds. 

Ever since Volstagg had left him, an unnamed ire had been burning in the pit of his stomach, growing in heat and intensity for no reason he could put a finger on, and he nursed the glowing kernel like a miser. 

A worthless stray was he? Just something Loki had picked up on a whim, to twist in his fingers to a sharp point until he had occasion to needle his brother? Was that all there had been to taking Balder in, to that private moment of openness and ale and warm skin that had felt so comforting and so true that Balder had felt that he had finally come home again? Was he merely a secret joke? A scant pebble in Loki’s never-ending journey of trying to make Thor pay attention to him? 

Didn’t _Balder_ matter at all? 

His rage flared up and consumed him, carefully burying the real thorn in his heart. If Loki had made it back to the castle, battered and bloodied as he was, Balder was going to throttle him. 

He wasn’t the only one. A man in a heavy cloak was leaving the hall, walking briskly in the direction of the blackened Blikstur, and behind him, making no attempt to muffle his footsteps, was Thor. 

“Tyr! Warlord, I would speak with you!” 

His voice boomed across the courtyard, and the wolf lord had to stop, there being no pretense of not having heard him. 

“Is the food not to your liking, Thunderer?” said Tyr. “Surely the steward will bring out another tankard of ale. We have a very fine wine from Vanaheimr that you will enjoy. Rest and be merry. You have done a very great service –”

“I am not a mindless sot, Tyr,” growled the prince. “Nor am I a fool. I know you have my brother imprisoned here, and you will take me to him, now!” 

What servants had been dawdling in the courtyard fled, and Tyr made a signal for his guardsmen to leave as well, and they were alone. Except for Balder who quickly hid behind a barrel.

“Take care how you make demands of me in my own hall, Thunderer.” Tyr’s voice was low, his anger deep as an underground river. “What brother would this be?”

“You know I have but one brother, warlord, and you have him. Bring me to Loki.”

Tyr played with his beard, watching as Thor’s anger drew him up tall and furious as if burning with a self-righteous inner flame. A flash of dry lighting lit the sky, followed by thunder.

“Would this be the same Loki who was hanged on the gallows of Odin’s tree?”

“There were no witnesses –”

“None but the tongueless priests of Ygg and the Allfather himself. Would you call your own father a liar?”

“If he is _lying_ , then yes!” raged Thor. “I come from a family of talented liars.”

“Then it is a pity you did not take after them,” said Tyr. “Perhaps you are seeking the Loki imprisoned in the deep of Mimisbrunnr?”

“I’ve been there,” said Thor dourly. “I dropped a stone down the well. It was empty.”

Tyr gave a grudging laugh. “Oh, Thor, that is not how you approach the well.”

“Do not mock me. My brother was not there. Nor was he bound to the three stones of Skadd with a giant serpent dripping venom on his head.”

“Are you sure?”

“I looked.”

“The Isle of Silence—” 

Thor shook his head.

“The labyrinths of Nornheim –”

“No.”

“The seven towers of Ginunngagap?”

“No. I looked there as well.”

“What, all seven of them?”

“Yes,” Thor grinded out. “He has not been tried, imprisoned, or executed, nor has he been banished to Midgard, Utgard, Muspelheim, or to his room. He is not in Jotunnheim either, and though I would consider it exceedingly cruel had Father sent him there, I wouldn’t have put it past him. But. Loki. Is not. There. He is not anywhere.”

“If you cannot find your brother, Thor, then perhaps you were not meant to find him. What purpose would it serve?”

“I must see that he is punished!”

Tyr sighed, deeply, heavily, and with a great show of having to suffer through the thickheadedness that was Thor, which Thor had long suspected was something Loki had picked up from him. 

“Believe me, Thor. I am certain that wherever he may be, Loki is being punished.”

“But –”

“But it is not your place to do the punishing.” Tyr grinned suddenly, resembling one of the wolves he so admired. “Why, were you looking forward to it?”

“What? You dare --!”

“Did you wish to rattle the bars and taunt him, lecture him, plead with him to be good?”

Thor was still lingering on the shock of the last outrage. “And what is wrong with that?”

Tyr snorted, pulling close the folds of his cloak. 

“The two of you, you’re both the same, childish, selfish, reckless and careless for nothing but your own empty cravings. It grieves me to look at you, and it grieves your father, too, as if all our years have been for nothing. Go back to the mead hall, Thor, and drown yourself in drink. Enjoy the wine. I have a sick horse to sit up with all night.”

And he stalked off in a flap of gloom-laden cloak but with a jaunt to his step that revealed that even the older and wiser were susceptible to the joys of pitching a tempter tantrum. 

Only Balder remained in the dark courtyard to see the set of Thor’s shoulder’s stoop, and the anger leave him as swiftly as it had flared, as was his wont. Even Balder almost missed the broken whisper that left the mighty Thor. 

“But I only wanted to see him.”

Drawing a deep breath as if to steel himself against merriment, Thor turned and trudged back to the hall, and it took Balder a moment to remember where he was, and shaking his head, he quietly made his way in the opposite direction to the black tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Darlings, the next bit has been 2/3 finished and sitting in the harddrive for a week now, but I swear I will come back to this when that _other_ fic comes to an end, which will be mid-to-late August-ish. Thank you so much for reading the non-smutty fic!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of talking: Tyr thinks Loki shouldn’t talk about fucking horses, an old lady talks about her sex life, Balder talks Loki into being brothers, and Thor and Sif talk in circles.

Balder heard voices when he stepped into the tower, and looked up to see the gold of lamplight. It came from only a few stories up, not at the highest point where the cell had been – was it earlier this very day? Balder felt like he had lived a lifetime since then.

He had not paused to think on it deeply, but every hour he had spent in this strange world was horrifyingly strange, and at once, more real than anything he had ever known. In a short space of time, details and trivia and odd inner workings of this world unfolded in his head, as if this had always been his home, and all he needed was a reminder. This could not be typical, and he knew that it was not in his nature to adjust so rapidly to extreme changes.

The door barely creaked, and he slipped inside the room unnoticed. This room, unlike the spare cell he had found earlier, was furnished with a bed upon which an unclothed and angrily squirming Loki lay on his stomach, as the healer tended to his wounds.

“Where did you pick up this one, Tyr? Was he training with the village tanner? You haven’t, by Odin’s great bloody eyeball, dragged your _horse_ doctor to tend to me, have you? And what is that blue monstrosity doing in here? Get it out of my sight.”

“ _Iði_ , here, carried you safely back from certain death,” said Lord Tyr, but he gave the jotunn – Balder knew this now, and of Jotunnheim – a sign to leave, and the giant did so with a bow. “You could show some gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” scoffed Loki. “I might as well send flowers to your horse.”

It was Tyr’s turn to laugh. “And here I thought you were fond of my Birya. I’ll send her your regrets, then.”

“There is no truth in that _vile_ rumor. I am not a _horsefucker_. It was my bro – it was Thor’s stupid idea of a jest, and I don’t see why you should abet him and harp upon it constantly.”

“No one would have remembered the jest if you had only let the matter drop, Loki.” Tyr shook his head, drinking deeply from a wineskin he had pulled from his belt. “But oh no. You had to one-up him, didn’t you? You had to claim that yes, as a matter of fact you did fuck a horse, and had given birth to the finest steed in all the Nine Realms, nay even better, because _your son_ was an eight-legged horse at that. And then, you presented that bizarre animal you created in front of the whole court. Was such an elaborate lie really necessary, Loki?”

“Father was pleased with it,” Loki said defiantly.

“Your father was… of course he was pleased, you imp. It was an extraordinary gift, and he recognized it as such.”

“And the common people mutter of the heartlessness of the great Odin who rides out each day on the back of his grandson.”

“That animal is _not_ his grandson!”

But Loki had started laughing, his laughter cut through with pain as it snagged at his scored flesh. The healer and Sigyn held him down, and Loki bit into his own arm as they finished with the bindings. Sigyn ran a gnarled hand through Loki’s tangled hair, and Loki grimaced, but when she sat down on the pallet, he moved to rest his head upon her lap.

“What were you thinking, foolish boy?” Tyr demanded, as the door closed behind the healer. “Flaunting yourself in front of Thor when you’re like this. Did you want to get caught? He could have killed you!”

“Yes, I was desperate for a good axe to the neck,” sneered Loki. “Do you think Thor would have had my head stuffed and mounted in his chambers? I could be hanging over his bed, watching a string of his insipid lovers climbing in and out of it. Do you think it would affect his performance if he knew it was me?”

“Why must you give voice to such vices?” deplored Tyr. “And don’t wander off topic. What would your father have said if I let you get killed while under my protection?”

“Oh, under your protection, am I? Was it protection when Thor dropped by for a guided tour of your menagerie? What did you tell him? _Don’t feed the animal, Thor, it bites_?”

“I would not have let him see you!” yelled Tyr, and stomped across the room to the door. “And he would not have seen you if you were more careful! So, keep your head down, Loki, and stay out of sight. It’s for your own good.”

Loki snarled at him. “Don’t get ideas above your station, old man. You’re not my real father.”

Tyr glared back at him furious. “No, Loki, I am not,” he said tightly. “But what _is_ that, truly? What more is a father than a man who raises a child with love?”

“How sweet. Next you’ll be saying you beat me out of _love_.”

For a long moment, Lord Tyr of the wolves stared at Loki, as if was seeing someone else, someone he had lost a long time ago, and he opened his mouth to say something. But he was only a grizzled old war lord, and not finding the right words, he shook his head and turned and left the tower room without another word.

Loki breathed a long weary sigh and rolled over to nuzzle Sigyn’s stomach. “I _hate_ that man,” he said, his voice full of loathing.

The old woman chuckled and combed her fingers through his hair. “Of course you do.”

“Stop humoring me, you old hag. Ugh, when did you get so saggy?” he scowled into her lap. “I can’t tell if this is your fat gut or your wrinkled drooping tits. No, put them away. They’re revolting.”

Sigyn only laughed. “Such charming words from my prince. What, you don’t care for these old ladies any more? You’ve suckled on them oft enough in the past.”

“Don’t mock me,” Loki snarled, rising on his elbows. “I could fuck you till you screamed.”

But Sigyn pushed him down on the pallet with one hand and loomed over him. Loki drew a sharp breath, still smarting from his wounds. 

“Could you now?” said Sigyn evenly. “Maybe you should wait until you’ve pulled yourself together some. For an old lady to get her full jolly’s worth from such a fine lord.”

She took up a wet cloth to wipe away the sweat and grime, and Loki glowered at her through the mess of hair and sniffed. “You’ll probably have croaked by then.”

Humming softly, she didn’t answer and reached for the wash basin to rinse out the cloth. Loki grabbed her by her thick waist and pulled her down to sit beside him again.

“Why?” he whispered. “Why would you take no more apples? I would have fetched them for you. I would have done it.”

“I’ve been a grandmother, and a great-grandmother, and a great-great-great-great, how many times over,” said Sigyn, combing her fingers through his hair again. “It’s not so unseemly that I look the part after all that. I’ve had eight husbands, don’t you know? Though that was one more than I should have had.” 

Sigyn sighed and rubbed soothing circles into his back. “Do you remember my first husband?” And she and Loki shared a soft chuckle. 

“Of course you do,” she said. “You slipped into our marriage bed that first night, claiming your right to _droit du seigneur_ , you little rogue. Wasn’t he surprised, my sweet Leif? And him a full grown man with a great barrel chest and a rowdy beard. He already knew I wasn’t a virgin. He was very fond of you, you know, for all that you tried to trick him. You had a way with the common folk. And after that, how many children I had. Three with my Leif. Twenty-one more with the others. Eighty-seven grandchildren.” 

Sigyn’s voice had gone calm and soothing, as distant as the memories she was calling up. 

“You stop counting after the first three great-grandchildren. My own children are long since gone now, and what family I have left are so far in time that I might as well be a story to them. And all that is left now is this old crone.”

“You will always… be beautiful… to me.” But Loki was already drowsing off. 

“That’ll be the drugs talking,” she said dryly, but she smiled as she bent down and smoothed the hair from his forehead. “My prince, my sweet little boy. Where did you go so wrong? What has filled you with such rage?” Sigyn sighed and slapped her rough hands over her apron. “Ah, well, if the answers were so simple to find, you wouldn’t be like this, now would you? Get some rest. You’ll need your strength.” 

Sigyn eased herself up slowly, a hand to her creaking side, and suddenly limber, she whirled around and stared straight into the dark corner where Balder was sitting, and wagged a crooked finger at him.

“And _you_ , you little good-for-nothing! I sent you off with a basket, and you bring him back in the middle of the night half torn to shreds,” she scolded in a harsh whisper. “I thought you’d run off!”

“I didn’t –”

“Shhh! No excuses. Are you going to go wandering off again?”

“I didn’t go wandering!”

“You wanted to work here, you stick to it. We can throw you straight out as quickly as you snuck in here, you know.”

“I won’t just leave. I swear it!” said Balder, but Sigyn scoffed at him.

“What good is your word, when even your name is false?”

Then the old woman ignored him, shuffling about the room, wringing out the washcloth, rinsing out and refilling the washbasin, and pulling clean clothes from the cabinet. Finally, with nothing more left to be done, she stood over the sleeping form, and tugged the blanket up to cover his chest. Loki immediately kicked it off with an irritated scowl, but he didn’t wake up.

Balder hovered helplessly, trying to help, but she was furiously focused on straightening out the minutest of things and wouldn’t let him touch anything, the haze of her irritation with him surrounding her like a pulsing bubble. 

“It’s not false. It’s all I have,” he said plaintively. Sigyn snorted, but the edge of her shoulders relaxed after that, and resigned, she gestured for him to come close. She pushed into his hand a vial of something that smelled foul even through the cork.

“Here, if you’re going to sit up with him. I’m going to bed. Give this to him when he wakes in the night. Oh, and make him put on a shirt. He’s picked up some very fancy notions about sleeping _in the nood_ , but he’ll just get the sniffles, and that won’t be very _sexy_ , will it?” And she hobbled out the door and down the winding stairway. Balder stuffed the vial in his pockets, and scrambled after her. 

“But how do I help him?” he cried. “How do I break this curse?”

She stopped at the landing, winded, and slapped her apron in exasperation. She made a throttled noise, and her eyes bulged at Balder, as if she couldn’t believe his stupidity. “And what makes you think I can say anything about _that_?” she rasped, finally.

“But I can’t even speak his name!” protested Balder, and ran down the steps to cling to her arm. “I can’t do anything. I don’t know how.”

“We’re all of us are sworn to silence, one way or another,” said Sigyn. “Do you think _he’s_ any better off with all that seið and magic and sorcery nonsense he’s always dabbling in? If you ask me, he’s doing this to himself, to spite everyone else with his misery.”

Then, seeing the desperation on Balder’s face, she sighed. “Come here, boy.”

She eased herself down to sit at the bottom step, and pulled out a piece of cloth from her apron pocket that looked ancient. It had yellowed ages before this, the edges frayed from where it might have once been trimmed with lace. Sigyn smoothed it out on her lap gently.

“I was his first, did you know that?” And she cackled at the horrified look on Balder’s face. “What’s the matter? Does it burn your mind to think about a wrinkled old woman like me tumbling that fine young lord in bed?” She peered into his face and laughed some more as Balder pressed his hands to his eyes, muttering _no, no, no._

“Why, how old do you think I am? Be honest. How old do I look to you?” she demanded, grinning from ear to ear. At least she had most of her teeth.

“A hundred and twenty,” blurted out Balder. 

Sigyn cackled some more and slapped her knee. “You won’t be very lucky in love if you keep that honest tongue in your head. Don’t you know a mature lady is always thirty-five?” 

She wiped the tears out of the grooves of her wrinkles and pinched Balder’s cheek. “Try nine-hundred and six, child. Oh, ho, surprised, are you? Yes, I am that old. He was barely a stripling of seventy-three when he came to my bed. Looked even younger than you do now, barely out of boyhood and still smelling of mother’s milk. _My_ milk, actually. Oh, yes, I was his wet nurse when he was a babe in swaddling clothes, then his nursery maid, and later on, I showed him how to please a woman with more than flattery. Ever the eager student, my prince. 

“My, my, what a summer that was. And now I am old, and he’s still a lovely young man. Those apples mess up your sense of time something terrible. The god-kings have always been young and beautiful, blessed with health and long life beyond the span of the common folk. But you get a few perks if you work at the palace. They grow fond of their servants, these lords do. Too fond, sometimes.” 

“Is that why he killed your husband?” 

Sigyn gave him a piercing glance. “Now where did you hear that?”

“He said so,” said Balder. “He said you were trying to poison him because he killed your husband.”

And like that, his mouth went dry. Balder hadn’t meant to say it so baldly; it just slipped and the rest spilled with it. His tongue being tied in certain quarters, seemed to relish any opportunity to babble on when it could. But Sigyn didn’t look angry, only wistful, and she smiled ruefully at the memory as if she was remembering a sad story about someone else. 

“Not my Leif, no. But I had other husbands after that, and some amount of money and respect after years of work,” said Sigyn, settling in for the long haul. 

“The last one, the eighth – I won’t say his name, no use disturbing the dead – now, he was a proud one. Thought he was stepping up to greater things around when he married me. He didn’t like that I’d been so low-born, or that some whispered that I was a witch and much worse besides. I should have known, but I was lonely, and he was very fair to look at. The worst of men change completely after you marry them. I grew to hate him soon enough. And he – well, let’s just say he raised his hand to me once too often before my prince had him killed.”

She shook her head grimly, and Balder didn’t know what to think. Slaughter, murder, mischief, hurt. When did the deed merit the crime? Balder knew, that because he was a prince, Loki had been trained as a fighter, a soldier, and soldiers killed with or without counting. And now, cold-blooded murder?

“I knew it was him,” said Sigyn. “There was no way it could be proved back to him by law, but I knew, and I hated that even more. It wasn’t his place, was it? Wasn’t his right. How _dare_ he? It was _my_ husband, and I would have dealt with him my own way. I told that vicious little princeling not to touch me or mine ever again, or I’d make him pay for it. He stayed away after that. And do you know? He’d looked so cut up about it. As if he thought I’d be pleased he murdered a man for my sake. He just didn’t understand.”

Sigyn had placed Balder’s hand on top of the fragile handkerchief, and taking out a needle, she was wetting a golden shimmering thread on her tongue to thread it. 

“But I will always remember the sweet boy. He worshiped me, you know, the way a callow boy worships a woman when he’s dipped his wick for the first time. Told me he’d love me forever and ever.” 

Brusquely, she started stitching crooked letters into the cloth, and a sharp prickle made Balder see that she was sewing his hand onto it as well. But he didn’t dare pull away, and Sigyn nodded sagely at that.

“You’re not as dim as you look, boy. Balder, was it?” He could read his name in the runes she was stitching, the runes that cut through his palm and into the handkerchief, where they flickered gold and vanished. “All you have is your heart, and your heart will be your guide. You’ve more than enough for the likes of him.”

“You don’t think he has a heart?” he asked.

Sigyn had finished sewing, and pulled the length of the gold thread out to snap between her teeth. When she tied a knot, the ancient cloth crumbled to dust. Only the faint sting of his name was left, burned into his lifeline. 

“A heart? A heart can love. Can he?” she said, finally. “A heart is different when you have an eternity, and life loses its value when you can keep reviving it. Love is a mortal thing, Balder, something that keeps us real and passionate in the short time we have. Who knows what love is like when _they_ play at it. Who knows if he has much of a heart left by now? And that, my young friend, is the curse of taking those damned apples. These days, I’m just waiting for my time so I can go peacefully in my sleep. I miss them, I miss my babies, my Leif.”

And she with that she hobbled her way back to the main hall. 

Balder sat on the stone steps, staring at his palm. It didn’t look very different from before, just a mess of intersecting lines that meant nothing. But his name had sunk into them somehow, and he knew he was bound one way or another to this unspoken promise, even if he couldn’t say exactly what it was or how he would keep it.

After a while, Balder trudged slowly back to the tower room and put out the lamps one by one. 

For the longest time, he sat watching the moonlight on the dark hair, and he thought. He thought about the wretched tangled coil in his stomach, and the strangeness of this place that made perfect sense to him, and the magic in stories he’d read about, and the twisted angry words shouted by everyone who did not seem to be listening to each other, and he wondered what it was that he wanted so badly. 

And he thought and thought, until he seemed to come upon a solution, the way you do when you’re about to fall asleep, and feeling very tired and rather dizzy, he climbed into the bed and dozed off.

\-------

Sometime in the night, Loki started mewling in pain, and Balder pried open his jaw and poured the contents of the vial down his throat, holding him down when he squirmed to avoid the bitterness.

“Thor? Is that you? What are you doing here?” asked Loki, drowsily, then he saw who it was. “Balder? _Balder?!_ What are you doing in my bed?!” Loki sat up suddenly, eyes wide and startled, staring down at Balder, and then at himself. “And why am I naked? You perverted little scamp! You’re much too young to even _think_ about this sort of thing!” 

“What sort of thing? You mean – no, I wasn’t! There wasn’t any other bed!” Hurriedly, Balder scrambled over to grab the clean nightshirt Sigyn had left out, and pulled it over Loki’s head. “And I’m not that young!” he protested. 

“A servant sleeps at the foot of his master’s bed with the dogs,” said Loki coldly, and nudged at Balder with his bare foot.

Slowly, Balder made a great show of climbing down to the stone floor, and rolling his eyes, Loki pulled him back up again with a sigh. Loki’s head immediately hit the pillow, and he groaned and rubbed the crags of his brows with his hands. 

“So, you’re not a dog are you, Balder? Or a servant,” Loki muttered into his pillow. “What are you? Why are you here, when I have no one left, when I’ve finally succeeded in turning everyone away from me, even my – ” He stopped short and swallowed. 

“Your brother?” 

Balder lay on his side sharing Loki’s pillow, and stared boldly into his face. It was Loki who averted his eyes first. 

“I have no brother.”

“I can be your brother,” said Balder quickly. 

Loki pulled a mirthless smile. “Will you now? Will you be my new brother? My new curse? The shining paragon of grace against which I shall always show myself to be the disgraceful stain?”

“I’ll break your curse,” insisted Balder. “And you won’t be any kind of stain. You’re good – you can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me. You’re good to me. You will be the good brother this time. To me.”

“Will I?” But a smile was curled around that question, and Loki stroked his hair in a soothing rhythm, humoring Balder. “Given this some thought, have you? And what about the curse?” 

Bits of what he’d been worrying through had floated away in his sleep, and Balder desperately grasped at the scraps. “You have to change. Because you’re changing, you see, you’re changing into this wolf- thingy, or smoke, or whatever, but it means you have to change. Magic is literal, isn’t it? You’re changing because you need to change.”

Loki gave a soft chuckle. “Wolf _thingy_?” A lazy kiss pressed against his temple and down to his cheek, and the cruel tilt of Loki’s smile seemed to have lost its edge in the haze of sleepiness. “You’re not making much sense, little mouse. I don’t suppose anyone has told you, but you’re not very bright.” And he yawned, and rolled over onto his back and put his hands behind his head. “And if I change into something monstrous, worse than that filthy creature you saw tonight, would you stand beside me? Would you walk with the wolf, slither ever downwards with the serpent?”

Balder curled into his side and murmured. “I’ll stay with you.”

“But what shall we do with you, Balder?” Loki asked, his fingers teasing through Balder’s hair, though he sounded concerned. “What about your home, your own family? What about your curse? You should worry about finding your way back home. As your master, I should be the one to find a way for you, but alas, I have failed in that as well.”

The hollow feeling in his gut was still there, but it had only mist to latch onto. Stranded here, Balder had nothing of the past to hold onto, and what memories he had felt unreal, and what life he’d left behind, he could barely remember.

“This is my home now. You will be my family.”

“Foolish child,” said Loki, but he put his arms around Balder, and fell asleep shortly after. 

Balder stayed awake, looking at his face still in repose, feeling so much older than this damaged, lonely god-child, and the tenderness hurt him inside. He wondered if this meant they were brothers now. 

When he next awoke, the lazy morning sun was pouring in through the open window, the room was bare, and the other side of the bed cold, and Balder was late for his first day of being Thor’s servant.

\-------

The tenor of the castle had changed. Even Balder could tell that the household was run off its heels with the new guests. It wasn’t that Thor was very demanding or finicky in his needs, but there was a distinct feeling in the air that the castle now had two masters, and it put everyone on edge.

From Volstagg and Volstagg’s arms bearer, Balder had learned out to unbuckle Thor’s armor and spent the rest of the morning cleaning out its many grooves and crannies, then cut himself several times trying to scour grass and dried ichor off the long sword. There was still the dagger, the boots, and the helmet. He didn’t dare lay a finger on Mjölnir. 

All the while, Thor let him go about his little chores and paid him little heed. Mostly, he sat with the Lady Sif, their heads bowed together as they spoke in low voices. Balder tried not to be too conspicuous, but he couldn’t help overhearing, and what he heard made his blood freeze.

“—and what about the creatures? He was in league with their masters. He may be still, although that depends on their nature. After all, he was defeated,” reasoned Sif, and Thor looked uncomfortable as Sif pressed her case. “You said he led an army of creatures of a similar strain to attack Midgard. These are like enough to be of the same origin. You are certain that it is Loki who is calling upon them to plague the land?”

“I cannot be certain of anything,” grumbled Thor. “No one will tell me anything! I am only their henchman. Go fetch your brother, Thor, he is up to mischief in Midgard. _Mischief_ , indeed. It was mayhem and murder!”

Balder could see Thor was trying to keep his voice down, and looked about. There was a decanter of wine, and he poured it into two goblets and brought it to them. They didn’t look up when they took the wine, and Balder could see the advantages of being a servant. You were practically invisible. 

“—but Tyr was certain he is being punished? And he did not mention anything more as to the where and how, whether he is contained from bringing more harm?”

“He told me to mind my own business, the damned old fool. He’s the one who turned Loki against me. Long before this, he always meant to take my brother away from me. _Because you bring out the worst in him, Thor_ – do you remember when he’d said that? That we were better off apart? He hasn’t changed his mind about it, of _that_ I’m certain,” said Thor with a scowl, and Sif placed a gentling hand on his arm.

“Oh, Thor,” she chided. “Don’t be foolish. Tyr is not your enemy, and that old grievance is ages past.” 

“He kept us apart when we were boys, Sif!” said Thor. “And when I came back to fetch him, Loki was a changed creature, suspicious and guarded with me. And now, Tyr’s in cahoots with my father to hide away my brother, and I don’t trust what they are doing, what brutal punishments they have in store. They’ll only drive Loki further into madness. You don’t know the ways of these pitiless old men the way I do, Sif. You’re a woman. They’re kinder to girls.”

“Oh, don’t I?” she demanded. “Because being been patted on the head and told to ‘run along, sweet thing’ is acceptable to you? Because being ignored and condescended to at every turn is the gentler lash? I think not, Thor. I’ve swallowed enough indignities from old men, young men, too, to keep a cold eye in my head. And I say Loki was a cagey, secretive thing long before he came to Tyrseng, and he hasn’t changed his ways since.” 

“You believe, then, that he is bringing down this plague of demons from another realm?” 

“You see Loki in everything, Thor, whether it is bad or good. Perhaps this is not about Loki at all,” said Sif. “What I see here, Thor, is foul trouble, and we have the strength to hold back that wave. Don’t let your argument with Tyr give cause for his people to suffer.”

Balder heard no more. Thor and the Lady Sif left to find Volstagg and a bite to eat. 

Balder’s head was still ringing from the accusation – what if Loki _did_ bring those creatures down? Was he the root and cause of Balder’s horrors? He stared at his palm, searching for the invisible stitches. 

A brood of chickens squawked indignantly and flapped out of his way as he stalked across the courtyard, kicking up dirt. Behind the kitchens, he saw the giant Iði smoking a clay pipe and staring off at the distant mountains. The giant nodded at Balder and grunted in recognition, and taking that as a friendly enough gesture, Balder went over to join him. At least _he_ knew, though Iði was probably forbidden from speaking about it, too. 

The giant’s face was grim and his expression harsh, but Balder supposed he couldn’t help the way he looked. Iði offered him a puff of the pipe. The smoke filling Balder’s mouth was sweet and calmed his fears. The giant sucked at the pipe and blew out smoke rings. Balder watched them turn into heart shapes, clovers, spades, and diamonds, before they faded away. Balder felt mellow and a little ashamed now. How could he turn on his brother the moment he heard one thing against him? 

“So, do you use your ice knife to chop up vegetables now?” asked Balder. His tongue felt a little fuzzy, as did his head. 

Iði grunted again, and stretched out his left hand in front of Balder, and Balder could see deep scars where the tendons had been cut. Iði shook his head. 

“Sorry,” said Balder. Iði only shrugged, and he gave Balder a pat on the back. Then all of a sudden, the giant looked fearful, and quickly he dashed back into the kitchens. Balder looked up to see what could have scared him off. 

Loki gave a nasty hiss at the jotunn’s retreating back. “Stay away from that thing, Balder. You’ll end up mincemeat.” Then, he grinned merrily. “Where have you been? Slaving away polishing the shit off Thor’s boots? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He was dressed plainly, in dull greens and browns, and when Balder wasn’t paying attention, he found his gaze slipping off Loki as if he wasn’t there. Loki snapped his fingers in his face. 

“What did that nasty thing give you, Balder? Don’t you know not to take candy from monsters?” 

Balder slapped his hand away, and jumped up to follow him. “Don’t call him that. He’s nice.”

“What do you know about it?” sneered Loki. “Are you making friends with all the foul beasts now?” But he looked too cheerful to hassle Balder about it seriously. He was heading for the tradesmen’s entrance at the eastern gate.

“What are you doing out here?” whispered Balder, as he jogged to keep up with Loki’s long strides. The cool air was clearing his head, and with clarity, worry and fear came rushing back. “You’re not supposed to be seen. What if you get caught?” 

“Nag, nag, nag,” said Loki in a sing-song. “If I wanted someone to scold me, I would have looked in on Thor. Don’t be boring, Balder.”

“But Lord Tyr said –”

“If Tyr says to do something, I make it my business to do the exact opposite,” said Loki. “He is not my father. And _you_ are not my mother. Hush now. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?”

They buried themselves in the traffic, the carts and flocks exiting the castle walls, and maybe Loki had worked a glamour to make them plainer and more unnoticeable, because no one gave them a second glance. 

“Where are we going?” asked Balder, as soon as they cleared the moat.

“Out,” said Loki, and looked down on Balder with an infuriating smile. “You said I need to embrace change. So I shall change.” 

And he grabbed hold of Balder’s hand, and before he knew it, he was tossed onto the back of a neat bay mare, and they went galloping down the countryside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long time between updates, but that other fic ran away with me. And now, _that_ fic wants a sequel. Thank you for your patience, and also for sharing in my indulgences. This one's a slow burner.


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